


Short Stories

by a_haunting_of_four



Category: Thor (Comics), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Ghosts, Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Sibling Incest, Snow White Elements, Thorki Trick or Treat 2020, prompt collection, traditions and lore
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-02
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:29:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26670685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_haunting_of_four/pseuds/a_haunting_of_four
Summary: A collection of stories based on one word prompts.
Relationships: Loki/Thor (Marvel)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 16





	1. Equinox

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A solemn figure arrives to the Borson estate on the first day of Autumn.

Her carriage arrived at dusk on the first day of Autumn.

He had heard whispers as he passed through Edinburgh on his way North and had them confirmed by Sif on his arrival.

“He is a grieving widow.” Sif had somehow been changed entirely and yet not at all by her marriage and the years between them. “If this brings him a measure of comfort, allow it. But Thor,” she had cautioned, “caution comes too late when we are in the midst of evils.”

Thor watched impassive from the windows of his late mother’s bedroom as a woman barely older than twenty was greeted by his father, and resolved to extend to her at minimum the courtesies owed to a poorer relation. 

On the bed behind him was a dark emerald gown. He had never known his mother to wear dark colours, or such heavy embellishment that it would weight her down.

Thor’s last memory of his mother was of her in this very room, light streaming in through the windows. She had made it a habit to keep a writing desk, every letter Thor had sent from his post abroad filed neatly into a drawer. A collection of perfume bottles on her dresser. On his last visit home he had brought a small, varnished snuffbox for her to use instead.

These were all things that Odin had order be put away. Instead of a life's worth of memories all there was for him to find was a dated dress, pulled from storage for the sake of hearsay and superstition.

When he questioned the poor maid he had caught arranging it on the bed she had paled and asked his pardon before confessing her disquiet. A letter had arrived from London, she had said, requesting that this dress be laid out in the Lady’s room. This dress and no other.

There had been a description attached, and a reproduction of the embroidery in the margins.

A clever parlour trick, Thor would allow, watching the poor girl wringing her hands. 

But nothing more.

If Odin wished to speak to the dead, it would not be Thor who disillusioned him. Let him grieve. Let him try to spare himself his futile guilt over the death of his wife. Illness spared no one for love.

Thor had known enough death to understand the senselessness of it all.

On the grounds below, the young woman in black glanced up on the pretence of fixing her hair.

It should have been impossible for their eyes to meet; much less for her to be able to hold his gaze at that distance. Thor was certain that he was all but hidden from sight in the dimming light of the evening and the thick, half-drawn curtains.

The whisper of something, gossamer soft and cold, brushed against his cheek and, below, the woman smiled.


	2. Cider

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki spends most of his morning busking

Loki is counting the handful of bills in his case when the stranger who has been watching him all morning seems to gather enough of his courage to approach him.

As a general rule he tends to avoid spending too long fielding questions from passers-by. He only has so long before his sixty minutes are up and he has to pack up for the day or find a new spot to busk for the evening. It's bad for business if he spends most of that chatting up every aspiring musician and concerned mother looking to strike up a conversation. 

He has also been doing this long enough that there us little anyone could do or say around him that could surprise him. So if he tucks his money away and considers taking an early lunch, he tells himself, it's because the forecast predicted rain after noon. Nothing to do with the handsome stranger approaching him with a smile and a steaming cup of cider in each hand.

Besides, even if this is just courtesy, it spares him the queue wrapping around the folkish wooden cart.

"Thank you," he takes the cup when it's offered with a smile. and quickly wraps both hands around it to leech off its warmth. It hadn't occurred to him to bring gloves with him this early in the season, but the late October air is frigid in the market square.

"I should have asked, I feel like I'm being awfully forward," the man's cheeks are tinged pink over his winsome smile, genuinely abashed. "But I didn't want to interrupt. Thank you for the music."

He is not much taller than Loki himself, but easily twice as broad. Thick arms and even thicker thighs wrapped in unassuming denim and plaid, like an early winter present.

Loki takes a quick sip of his drink to keep himself from staring and scalds his tongue.

"No harm done." He tries to suck in a breath to take the sting out of it without looking like a fool, and from the deepening crow's feet around the stranger's deep blue eyes he only half-manages. "I was hoping to pay you a visit soon, in any case. My mouth has been watering all morning." That earns him the quirk of an eyebrow and now it's Loki who can feel his cheeks burning. "For the cider!"

His voice does odd things when he is nervous.

"I'm Loki," he offers, hiding behind another careful sip of his drink. 

"Thor," the stranger smiles and offers his hand for Loki to shake. 

There is a gentle edge to the way Thor moves, for all his evident strength. The part of him that struggles to sleep at night, cold under the thin sheets of his bed at the hostel, wonders what it would be like to slip between Thor's arms instead.


	3. Atrium

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For J, who prompted 'crooked.'
> 
> Thor draws his brother away from the chaos of a changing world to fix his shirt.

Loki’s shirt is buttoned up crooked and in the bustle of the people rushing around them it is all that Thor can see. Unaligned buttons and crisp white twill as the world spins off its axis all around them

(He counts them. Three, four, five and a collar out of sorts. One and two are hidden by the waistband of his trousers; one tail shirt longer than the other.)

Thor grabs him by the elbow as he is walking past, the low heels of his boots sharp against the marble floors of the atrium, and with a single touch bids him stay still.

Flanked by two pillars they are hidden from sight, and Thor can finally take is brother’s face in his hands. Rest his forehead against his to share the same breath. Lower his hands to cup his neck, and feel the strong, steady pulse of his heart.

(He counts them. One, two, three, and loses count with a kiss.)

Loki sighs, warm against Thor’s lips, and Thor tastes trusts.

Undressing Loki is the most natural thing in the world to him. Feeling the tender skin of his belly pebble, muscles twitching against the cold air, and soothing it with the warmth of his palms.

When Thor finishes setting his brother shirt to rights he lets himself linger on the edge between Loki’s hipbones and the line of his trousers. Looks his brother in the eyes as he undoes the buckle of his belt. Keeps looking as Loki’s eyes fall closed when his hands brush against where Loki is soft and vulnerable against his leg. Takes care to be gentle rather than arousing.

(Inhale, exhale. Loki opens his eyes and some of the turmoil in them is gone.)

Loki’s footsteps are sharp and measured—the low heels of his boots make a satisfying echo as they crack against the marble floors of the atrium. Thor listens after them until they fade away, taking his brother with them, and braces himself to face a new age.


End file.
